How
are you
my
steaming mug
of coffee,
my
hot-day
lemonade,
and my
whiskey
on the rocks?
_______________________
Poems you might love:
Tag: poetry
Safe
Do we connect
with lovers
because we
feel safe,
at least,
while they
hold us
gently
in their mouths?
Touchstone Tuesday: Poem XII
Music is a formed space
and lyrics, the beaten door,
when I hear a song played
I’m thrown onto its floor.
And, without authority,
I’m made to recall,
where I was and what I felt
when I first was made to fall.
Thrown back into the room
where my olden thoughts were sketched,
turned about by dancing memories,
I fell forward and I retched.
Movement
With a thousand poems,
I try to tell you
how I feel about you,
but, with every failed lyric,
it’s clearer that
my passion
can only be expressed
with movement.
On Fire
But how
can you
put fire
in my veins
and tell me
you don’t like
the smell
of smoke?
Writing Cursive
As an ink pen,
you express yourself
in graceful, flowing strokes,
and I, your parchment,
would let you practice
your cursive
until you mastered
every letter.
(And, between letters,
I lament
that the alphabet
has only 26.)
Ode to Joy
It seems
contrary to my faculty
to craft poetry
that uplifts
a reader,
rather than
pulling her
deeper into
introspection;
but it is likely
that I’m simply
overthinking it.
So, I’ve created a poem
to raise the reader
to heights of joy:
smooth coffee
dogs
radiant sunsets
good music
snow days
chocolate
captivating books
love notes
sandy beaches
inside jokes
new shoes
budding flowers
What simple things bring you joy?
Touchstone Tuesday: Poem IX
I edit my work,
but not early
as often
as my work
edits me.
Ricochet
I ricochet
between
the feelings of
depravity
— the shame
of seeing God
yet still
choosing myself —
and the majesty
of there ever
being a moment
during which
self-interest
was conquered
at all.
How we
are irredeemable
and redeemed,
all at once.
On Spirit
I find it difficult
to write
poems of
spirit and faith —
a challenge
that surprises me,
for there are, truly,
few moments
more poetic
than casting my heart
onto the ground,
crying out to my Creator,
in desperate hope and distress,
for relief from the boulders
that burden me to the earth.
What do you carry in your heart but struggle to write about?
Faith, Health, and Other Musings 